


Snowday

by one_red_sock



Series: Lisa'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Kink, F/M, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_red_sock/pseuds/one_red_sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet again, Lisa accepts the fact that she likes a bigger Dean. And what better time to play than when Ben is out of town?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowday

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous belly stuffing. There, I've said it. (And a little button popping.) Dig in! (Initially inspired by a prompt at [](http://chubwinchesters.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://chubwinchesters.livejournal.com/)**chubwinchesters** but I wandered far short of it. My bad.)

Lisa leaned against the sill, the glass steaming cloudy from her breath. The sky was as white as the landscape, sharply cold and so bright she had no choice but to squint, though the falling snow had diminished to little more than freckles in the air by now. She swiped her hand to clear the glass and from the bedroom window, surveyed her neighborhood which had become more tundra than suburbia since five this morning, according to the excited weatherman on Channel Six. She was ridiculously grateful to be inside and warm, in her woolen socks and pilly old sweater, instead of out there in the blindingly frigid world. White hillocks and lumps distinguished the streets with their buried cars from the yards, but just barely. A foot, the weatherman had gushed. It was at least that.

And there was Dean below her, a big dark mass squeezed into last year's winter coat. They'd had a devil of a time zipping the thing and it was so snug across the shoulders, he could hardly move his arms. That didn't stop him from plowing lines across the driveway; when Dean set his fool mind to something, there was no argument. They rummaged a square-headed shovel from the garage and that's what he was using to push the snow away in long stripes to pile, mounds deep, at the edge of the yard.

Now was her chance. Ben was at her parents' place in Florida for the winter break, it was a weekend, and Dean deserved a substantial reward for all this hard work. Lisa grinned, humming thoughtfully to herself, then bounced away from the window and downstairs to the kitchen. She had a job to do, too.

**

Lisa greeted him at the door with a big mug of hot chocolate. Dean's nose was scarlet, and snow had gotten caught in his seasonal beard--a goodly scruff which had grown in a surprising shade of auburn. She pulled off his hat with one hand and ruffled his sweaty hair. "Aw, poor baby."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said gruffly, removing his gloves with his teeth, setting them on the windowsill. He took the hot chocolate in both hands and sighed in obvious relief at the warmth. One deep breath of the sweet steam and his eyebrows lifted. "Mmm, peppermint?"

"Schnapp's," Lisa said, grinning and feeling just a little bit devilish.

"You trying to get me drunk, woman?"

"Oh, please." She helped him out of his coat, giving it a quick shake. "You ready for lunch?" Lisa was hungry, that was for damned certain. She'd worked like a tornado in the kitchen, pulling together a spread and a half for Dean, and she couldn't wait for him to tuck in and delight in her handiwork. All of it.

When they'd first gotten together, when he'd shown up on her doorstep full of misery and nightmares, he was gaunt and tired. He'd been through so much, it tore holes in her heart and sparked a place in her she didn't know existed. She wanted to give him the world, in exchange for the one he'd just saved. Yes, yes, technically the savior was his brother Sam, whom she'd met only briefly and so long ago he was barely a shadow, a myth, as far as she was concerned.

Now, Dean—he was real and solid. A hero, standing in front of her, pink-cheeked and robust, with melting snow caught in his eyelashes. And she still wanted to give him the world.

"Come on." She smiled, tugging his free hand.

"Wait, boots," he said with a stomp.

"Sit, then."

"Yes, ma'am!"

She loved it when he let her take the reins. He plopped down on the old wooden chair that sat by the door for this very purpose. Or to catch mail or car keys, whichever. It creaked when it took his weight and Lisa got on one knee before him, fingers moving over the wet, cold laces. She looked up at him, at the solid swell of his belly pressing against the gray-green Henley that made his eyes look as bright as the sea, at his strong thighs, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. This was all hers, and she craved more of him.

The boots stowed and drying in the corner, Dean padded sock-footed after Lisa into their eat-in kitchen. She didn't bother with setting the table, since they had a nice new breakfast bar that Dean had just installed before the snows hit. Said bar was well-appointed with lunch: roast beef sandwiches and chips and warm potato salad, a pie (of course!) cooling on top of the stove—deep-dish apple, one of Dean’s favorites, though to Lisa’s observation, he’d never met a pie he didn’t like.

“Aw, Lis. You spoil me.”

“I do,” she agreed, watching as he centered himself on a stool at the bar, a little too hefty to seem comfortable but he liked to hook his heels on the rungs and she never complained about how that posture rounded his belly up, nice and pillowy.

She fixed him a plate, two over-stuffed sandwiches and a mountain of potatoes, making sure the chips were well within reach. And then she just sat back and enjoyed the show. When Dean ate, he did so with casual commitment, the steady movement of hand to mouth. That gorgeous mouth, lips that could charm and seduce and make her squirm if moving just the right way, on just about any part of her body. They talked about the ridiculous weather and work, about the new class Lisa was running at the health center and getting tires for the truck, but really, all she could think about was him. His amazing self. The way the muscles in his shoulders worked as he reached for another beer and the tightening of his shirt across his middle as he polished off all the food she’d heaped on his plate.

She’d always liked big guys, but never had she set out to do this: make one bigger. Until Dean.

It started with him needing someone to take care of him, to make him feel secure and cherished and not completely alone is this huge, ugly world. And make no mistake, his world had been ugly. He needed an anchor, weight to hang on to. Somehow along the way, this just sort of became their thing and Lisa got off, like literally _off_ , on seeing him fat and happy. The fatter, the happier. There was a distinct correlation. Did that make her weird? God, maybe. But he wasn’t an unwilling participant and though some days, she’d catch him looking in the mirror and frowning, pinching at his love handles or cupping his now-sizable paunch, all it took was a well-placed hand on his glorious ass, warm lips to his neck, and he was back tethered to her compassion, her admiration. Wasn’t a tough sell, really.

“More?” Lisa asked nonchalantly, all the while filling up a second plate whether he wanted it or not.

Dean rocked back a bit and set a hand on his belly. “I dunno—”

“Of course you do.” This, said with a bright smile, as Dean feigned a pout. He was in on it; this was part of their little game. He rubbed the solid bulge of his stomach as though doubtful, testing its capacity, prodding here and there. Lisa slid the full plate across the bar until it bumped into him. “Clean your plate and you can have dessert. Have dessert, then you can have me.”

Dean’s cheeks bloomed with color, which was exactly the effect she’d intended. He started in on the third sandwich and Lisa made her way around the bar to him, cruising her hand from the countertop, up his arm, to his fat middle.

There were no two ways about it; Dean had a fantastic middle. It was huge and warm, lightly freckled. Smooth. She nibbled at his earlobe as his jaw worked, tongued inside his ear, and he moaned with his mouth full. “Keep eating, baby,” she murmured against his temple. She slipped fingers to his throat, feeling him swallow beneath the soft layer of beard and pudge under his chin. So delectable.

He wanted to make her happy, clearly, or was eager to move on to the pie because he polished off Round Two with abandon, shifting against her as she pressed forcefully into his stomach. Made him grunt a bit, but it was a pleased grunt, like a bear shifting against a tree for a good scratch. So Lisa obliged him, rolled his shirt up his back and raked with her short nails across the padding over his muscle, kneading fistfuls of flesh down his flanks until she could drape herself over his back and massage his overburdened belly from behind. She rubbed against him, warmth spreading from her own belly to her pussy, and she knew damned well he was getting hard too.

He reached behind to palm her thigh, strong enough to bruise.

“After the pie,” she commanded, and though it made her ache, she peeled herself off him to get dessert.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He watched her, sloe-eyed and half-grinning, his shirt riding up his torso so that a good slice of stomach was exposed to the air, already rounding over his belt. With the pie and a fork in hand, Lisa leaned across the bar so that he could watch her tits as she fed him.

They started slow, just a nibble. She made a helluva good apple pie, her grandmother’s recipe, not a single corner cut. Lots of butter, brown sugar, crumb topping and rum. Sinfully rich. After a teasing start, they picked up steam. Lisa knew he’d be getting full and she had to work fast. She _needed_ to work fast, because watching him struggle just that little bit, leaning back more each bite to make room for his stomach to swell, was heating her up and making her squirm. His already impressive mountain of a belly shoved out of his shirt, orbic.

Half the pie was gone when she made him stand up, with her insistent nudging and the purring of “Get up get up get up” in his ear. She made sure his shirt was rucked up, good and high, over his belly. She wanted an unobstructed view.

He exhaled hard and rocked to his feet, widening his stance to support the new weight. He hadn’t really needed a belt in months, but habit kept him wearing one; Lisa unbuckled the useless damned thing and tugged it out of the loops. It was stubborn, often chafing on the heavy flesh that overran the waistband. The snap of his fly strained; maybe that’s why he wore the belt, so he wouldn’t pop his button. But today was a good day to forego such niceties.

“Keep eating,” she bossed, caressing his roundness, tracing light fingertips over striations of pink: fresh stretchmarks. Delightful little trophies of her success. And he did keep eating, even though she heard him huff periodically, as though this was real work. He had the pie tin sitting on top of his stomach and was shoveling in, mouthful after mouthful, bursting to get to the prize at the bottom of the Crackerjack box. His waistband grew tighter still, pinching the tender skin. “Almost there, sunshine, keep going,” she said softly, eagerly, skimming her palms from his expanding gut to his dick, which was certainly doing its own swelling. “Finish for me, come on.”

He groaned, and with a ping, the snap sprung, no longer able to contain his belly. Lisa immediately slipped her hand down his pants, gave his cock a firm tug. He wasn’t done with the pie yet; he needed to earn his reward. His breathing was coming in shallow pants now, maybe a sixth of the pie left. Lisa rubbed him hard, coaxed down the zipper and pulled him free, heavy and hot in her hand. “All of it, Dean. You can. You will.”

Sliding her an obstinate look, he licked his lips. “And if I don’t?” He barely got the words out, such a hollow bluff. He always finished for her.

He was leaking into her palm, rigid, and Lisa rubbed up and down the length of him, brushing her thumb strategically under the head, right where it made him shiver. “Bet you can’t.”

Never one to decline a challenge, Dean filled his mouth, chewed slowly, almost painfully. He was struggling to stay focused, his eyelids fluttering and a moaning hum coming from his throat as Lisa stroked him faster. She banged her arm against his stomach, making his girth sway, ripple. The view from her vantage point was astounding, looking up at him from around this robust mound of flesh, the plush swell that shuddered whenever he moved. Strong stout arms, rolls that hinted at his fat, perfectly round ass. She watched as he stuffed the last bit of the pie in his mouth, filling his cheeks, swallowing hard. But he came even harder in the next moment, all over Lisa’s hand, grunting into the quiet air of the kitchen. The pie tin rolled off his belly and clattered to the floor, spraying scant few crumbs across the tile. She could practically feel his heart pounding, the last of him pulsing in her grip. Happy, sated.

“Oh, Jesus, Lis,” he said on an exhale, his hand dropping to her hip. He might even have been trembling a little. “What you do to me.”

She grinned, wiping her hand on a clean dishtowel. “No, baby, what you’re gonna do to _me_ ...”

“God, I dunno.” He stifled a burp and waddled a step. He was grand, unwieldy in his fullness. “Stuffed.”

“I know.” She cracked another beer and handed it to him. He looked incredulous at first, until her hand wandered down the front of her sweater, undoing one button at a time. She hadn’t bothered with a bra this morning—just another thing to take off—so pinching her nipple into a sharp little peak took hardly an effort. She splayed the sweater so he could see her interest, in no uncertain detail. “That’s why I have Mother’s Little Helper in the bedroom. Bottoms up.”

Obediently, and with a smirk even, Dean downed the beer in long swallows. He moaned, wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Though it seemed to take some effort, he wrestled out of his shirt. Lisa grabbed his hand and watched him sway, his ponderous belly as full as it could get.

Then she led him upstairs.


End file.
